Miss Jackson
by KnightOfBurgers
Summary: Years after canon events and losing Annabeth, Percy finds the love of his life, and she's a whirlwind. OR The sassy, fourth-wall breaking, teen-angst packed sequel to Riordanverse you never knew you needed. Part 2 of Another Him-and-Her Story. Post-Canon.
1. Love of My Life

**Love of My Life.**

_Artemis' moon, though dull in mourning, exiles from the arena the little darkness that wasn't already scared away by the raging fire in the center. The shroud is a faint source of light on its own too, indicating that the Hecate cabin had had something to do with it: Chiron's idea of having the children of Magic spell each camper to return to camp upon their demise worked a bit too brilliantly at times._

_But it is that very idea that permits Annabeth's funeral at all._

_The crowd starts to thin out soon. The veterans realise the importance of crying yourself halfway to Hades in private while grieving, so they depart first. Cabin 6 leaves next, knowing that she'd want them to keep the camp on its feet while the real leaders mourn the Heroine of Olympus. Chiron herds the rest out soon after, his heart heavy but unyielding to even the loss of the little girl he raised, for he knows from his torturous centuries that Thanatos loves demigods._

_And thus the trio of cousins is all that is left: the huntress orphaned but for the ones standing by her, the king of ghosts weeping for the only one who could fuss over him and get away with it, and her Seaweed Brain with yet dry eyes._

_Thalia's wails of agony, of despair, echo into the night, with inaudible sobs from Nico accompanying them. Percy quietly lets them celebrate their sorrow while trying to contain his rage._

_The lieutenant of Artemis finds her way into Percy's embrace somehow through flooded eyes, but the presence of a co-sufferer isn't much comfort: she knows this is the last they'll see of her, for a demigod's death doesn't allow a grave to cry at._

_Hence, through sad, blue, water-filled eyes, she watches the gray-eyed brat in her fiery resting place, as she burns to Ouranos and Erebus simultaneously._

_Percy knows he'll never love again. She'd said that she'd recovered—that his company had helped. She'd told him she'd be alright—that they would go on that trip to Alaska in a week. She had lied._

_Daybreak stings the son of the Underworld and he ushers the others to his cabin to mourn in peace: Thalia's hyper-joy on hearing of Annabeth's death had caused the destruction of cabins one through four._

_The daughter of Zeus removes her head from where it was buried in Percy's chest, shifting a little so that they can get a bit more comfortable on the short bunk beds which haven't seen residents since their manufacture, "Is she—," she tries to speak without breaking down, "Is she waiting?"_

_"What kind of question is that?" Percy snaps, the most emotion he has shown all night, "You know she promised she'd wait! Wise Girl promised me she'd—"_

_"Percy," Nico cuts him off, gentle yet full of fear, "she isn't waiting."_

* * *

Perseus wakes up groggier than ever. Or rather, groggier than all the states of grogginess he can remember. And those are few, even though his lifestyle produces many.

He has dreamt that nightmare so many times that he's forgotten to suffer when reliving his girlfriend's funeral. He rubs his eyes open and yawns leisurely—he would have once called it a privilege to wake up at your own time, but then again, that was Percy, not Perseus.

The slant, weak rays of the autumnal sun of dawn collide with the freezing floor in a small area, but reverberate through the room and serve to light it up enough to let him locate the bottle on his bedside table—one of the few things that he had inherited from his teenage self—and drain it in one go.

The flavor of his mother's signature chocolate-chip cookies (blue, of course) and the liquid magic soothes his body. It reduces his tiredness better than sleep could and destroys his mental state a little worse than the nightmares could. Of course, one could say there was no need to be nostalgic, since he could have the cookies in real form whenever he desired: Hestia, being the cruel goddess she is, had blessed him with a projection of his mother to tail him and act exactly like Sally Jackson. But what the witch didn't realise was that the gift continually reaffirmed his mother's death, and thus made the tears harder to restrain.

He gets off the bed, cursing its comfortability that always lulls him into a false sense of joy, and walks to the full size mirror nearby. He looks at his reflection for a few seconds, frowning at how tired and old he seems—he almost looks like a zombie. He taps the mirror's amber edge twice and waits for the blessing to clean and dress him up perfectly. It had been so long since Aphrodite had gifted him that he wonders for a moment if she's forgotten him. But no, his father had arranged very carefully that the goddess of Love forever remembers him as the cause of her eternal misery.

Perseus goes to the kitchen and picks up the plate of enticing blue pancakes that Not Sally had baked and dumps them into the sacrificial fire for his father. Then he takes a sip of the water by it to aid his body, which was very much mortal and hence needed to have sustenance beyond ambrosia and nectar.

As he walks down the unnecessarily long hallway, the demigod wonders where Hestia's gift was: he hasn't seen it in any room he's passed, and those were the most probable rooms she could be right now. He shrugs it off, not really caring if Hestia had finally taken pity on him.

The blank pale walls really need a more indulging and active owner; As it was, the house is more 'empty mental institution' than 'home'. Sometimes he doesn't understand why even is he trying to live in it, since the sole reason he had for a home had abandoned him years ago.

Reaching the room he likes to call Study, he plops down in a seat, and reclines it a little. He's already liking the idea of lazy-reading a graphic novel that had gotten him hooked.

However, he glances at the tiny table standing proudly a little ways off, and dismisses the idea. He reaches out to pull the stand closer to himself. The air pockets in his back pop—the girl last night was quite the bender, and had expected him to follow her strange forms as well—but he persists and dragged it to beside him. Uncapping the container, he pours himself some, relishing the soft sound of the brown fluid as it fell to the glass.

As the liquid burns his throat lightly, he thinks of how the lives of mortals are wasted on petty arguments and pleasures: all a mortal's life ever resulted in was exactly zero in the long run. A demigod's, on the other hand, contributed in more tangible and drastic ways. That, he realises, was probably why the gods had done such a splendid job in ensuring that half-bloods had neither the means nor the desire to help them out. Jason would probably have had a speech to give about that—about how the gods were correct in mysterious ways and how sons of Poseidon having any sense of self-preservation should keep their words (or thoughts) restricted when reaching the subject.

But Jason wasn't exactly in the health to orate his cute prepared speech, seeing as he was Hades' property now, and that was why Perseus didn't give it more thought.

The doorbell sounds. It's weird to hear, because he hasn't had many visitors. Probably because he made sure to choose a home in a secluded part of the city and framed the front do that mortals wouldn't exactly _love_ to approach it.

He gets up slowly, half-attempting to impress upon the person that he was antisocial, and lumbers to the front door, not betraying a single hint to his presence to The One At The Door.

He opens the door to find a beautiful women at his doorstep. He rarely got any unplanned, uninvited visitors, and he got none of the kind currently in front of him. So and therefore, this could only mean one thing.

"Look, I clearly told you when we met that it was a one-night stand," Perseus recites his unused rehearsed speech, "If you want to have the kid—though I strongly advise against it—just check your bank account once: I've already made you wealthy enough to convince you to leave me alone. Otherwise," he readied his fingers behind his back, prepared to use the Mist if she did not cooperate, "I have more convincing arguments."

"I have no interest in how you use the the Mist to make rich the potential bearers of your seed, Perseus," the female speaks in a quiet yet on-edge voice, "Nor do I think Hecate hates her queen enough to let me be manipulated by that stupid parlor trick of hers."

Perseus is dumbfounded, but only for a moment. "I thought my father convinced Zeus to leave me alone."

"When our world is untouched by you, yes."

"What did I do wrong, Hera?" He cuts to the point. "I've always kept my distance. I didn't even help heroes on quests!"

"I am not Hera, Percy Jackson." The lady's expression turns slightly sour, as if being compared to the queen of the gods isn't to her liking.

_Nobody can blame her for feeling like that, though. _"Perseus," he corrects stiffly and somewhat automatically, while trying to figure out who she could be.

If it wasn't Hera... The other 'queens' who could walk without getting in trouble and command a Titaness could only be either Amphitrite or Persephone. And neither of them seem right, since he's touched neither Pontus nor Erebus in the last gods-know-how-many years. In fact, he's not touched a single aspect of the Greek world since he's left Camp.

"Why, I clearly remember a time when you'd rather not be called by your Greek name, _Destroyer_."

Perseus does _not_ like that she'd drawn him into _those_ memories. "It's what my mother named me, is it not? Who _are_ you?"

"I heard of what happened through Hestia. Poseidon wasn't overjoyed, as I remember."

"Answer the damn question." Patience isn't his strong suit anyway. He uses the whiskey in his abandoned glass to draw it to himself, steps out, and closes the door behind himself, hopefully clearly showing that she wasn't welcome.

"Insolent as always, _Perseus_. Ask yourself, would your stepmother have any patience with you after you attaining the title of heir?"

"First, Triton is heir apparent. And I don't think there are many scenarios where I get control over the seas. Second, almost all immortals are as stuck up. Third, what is your business here, Persephone?"

"You would not mind if I beat around the bush a bit, though, would you?"

_Of course I will. _"Is that meant to be a soft imperative, milady? 'Cause I'm not nearly naive enough." He takes a long drink out of the glass, thanking Poseidon for his powers.

Persephone smiles slightly, "Another imperative of the kind then: won't you invite me inside?"

* * *

"Received this from your father, did you?" Persephone asks as soon as they are seated.

Perseus nods in reply, but seeing that the lady of Spring is looking at the desolate walls and the ultra-clean floor, he verbalises his answer. "Yes I did. I decided to finally reap at least some of the rewards of a life of pain."

"Of two lives, you mean."

His expression turns guarded, and his voice hardens. "Yes. Though I know as a fact that you cannot in forever repay her."

"Your hostility towards me is unrequited. It wasn't me who was by her side the night before she died."

Perseus is angry now, and his hand reachs his pocket out of habit, just to find it empty. He trys to pass it off as a movement to hide his clenching fist, and fails.

"Ah, yes," she nods at his failed attempt at drawing a sword, "I heard that you melted away your sword in the Olympian Hearth. I never heard the reason, though."

"I sacrificed it to Zoë Nightshade. It was hers."

The goddess is inspecting his belongings now. Perseus is thinking where the hell is Not Mom. "I infer that you no longer deem demigod and mortal lives worth saving: you could've as easily given Poseidon or Chiron Anaklusmos back for another great hero to wield it. Do you really think the half-bloods will survive without someone to take your place?"

"Why, though? Kronos is spread far apart to never be able to reform. Leo took down Gaia permanently. The only force demigods will ever need a great hero against is you and yours."

Thunder rumbles loudly at that. "Zeus is, I fear, quite resentful of that assessment." At his small shrug, she questions, "Why don't you fear? Why do you not allay your speech a bit?"

"Because I am telling the truth. And I don't really care about pleasing him, only myself."

"Is that the reason why you have a track record comparable to Aphrodite in bedding mortals?"

"Probably," Perseus says, "But enough sidetracking. What are you here for?"

"Have you forgotten yet? You allowed me to discuss other topics first."

Perseus just sighs in defeat.

"So, tell me," the goddess continues, "what have you been doing these days?"

He senses hidden motives behind the question. He wonders if this was the Olympian version of 'good cop, bad cop'. Persephone does have the looks to draw out answers (Aphrodite had lost access to her love magic for a few millennia as punishment for toying with the love lives of four of the Seven, including her daughter, so she couldn't possibly seduce the truth out of him.) but lacked the attitude required to act seductress. There was also the fact that his father can easily testify to his good behavior—there is no need for Olympus to conduct an investigation.

"Living like a mortal. An extremely rich mortal, I suppose."

"Without a spouse."

The Hero of Olympus nods. "Without a spouse," he agrees without emotion, "I fear that I won't ever be able to love someone other than my Wise Girl. And I don't wish to have a pseudo-detainee or gold-digger," he paused, "This is getting really personal, though. Should I be scared that Olympus is getting so interested in me. Or is it just _your_ interest?"

"I just desire to know if you have the resources and temperament to handle the task I'll be assigning you."

_Finally, some business talk. _"A quest? What did I do to receive a death sentence?"

"No, not a quest," the child of Demeter takes a deep breath, probably considering whether to reveal her motives yet, then continues, "First, tell me of your incomplete romance with the girl? Keyword being '_incomplete_'."

It is more a demand than request by the tone of it. Perseus, therefore, says, "We both thought we were prepared for the incomplete factor: Annabeth had calculated the chances of having a normal life quite early on, and they weren't exactlyexactly like Tyche smiling at us. Even with our godly parents looking out for us, the mortal and immortal dangers that danced around us were many, so we knew it wasn't to last. But then she died. And I was unprepared. It was one thing if it had been a mortal or a quest or a monster—"

"But it _was_ a Titan that took her. And very violently, I remember well."

"No you don't. You don't remember, and you won't in forever remember, because you gods are too _great_ to care about what happens to one lowly demigod. Because you don't have the guts to take responsibility of your children. It wasn't Hyperion's torture and brutality that took her, Persephone!" His voice drops to a cold whisper. "It was Athena's curse upon her, which was Olympus' to take back, or Dionysius' to get rid of. What killed her, my lady, _was her own damned mind._"

"We didn't kn—"

"You knew! You all knew! Artemis knew as soon as she was first touched by him—it was her Domain for Olympus' sake!—and yet she didn't even try to help my Wise Girl—the _Heroine_ of Olympus—the one who saved ALL YOUR LIVES! No god told me where she was! No god helped her come home even after she escaped!"

The house and the nearby buildings are all shaking violently by now. "Athena knew what she was going through, knew that it was destroying her. Apollo knew. Hades knew she was about to kill herself. _Nobody_ told me! NOBODY TOLD ME!" He is screaming most of it now, "And Annabeth, she betrayed me! She told me she was fine! That there weren't any nightmares! That _being with me helped_!"

Perseus composes himself, painfully, slowly, "Of course, it turned out to be a lie. She was so broken that she wouldn't even stay in Hades. The Judges told her it was her third virtuous life, but she rejected the Isles of the Blest for the Lethe and rebirth." His voice dropped to be inaudible to her, "So much for 'together forever'."

Persephone lets his words die down before changing the topic, "Tell me, how have you healed?"

"I was never wounded, goddess. Her death jolted me for a while, sure, and I wasn't able to feel emotions clearly enough to identify them for a while. But now I know—I feel no pain. I feel angry, yes, but no sorrow. At least not because of her leaving me."

"Contradictory to your behavior, that statement. You probably mean you _think_ you don't feel sad."

"Something like that. I _am_ healed... I just have a permanent dagger sticking inside me ready to open the wound again. And it's free for use by anyone! I see the stars to be reminded of the anxiety I had for her health while I was enjoying at Calypso's. I see flowers to be reminded of our dates. I see—well, I see the world as if it exists to tribute the love we had. She once told me love is a rampage of hearts. I now conclude my love was a little too much for her heart."

He glares at her as if to say 'That enough for you?' and Persephone nods, finally satisfied. She snaps her fingers and, with a bright flash, a crib seemingly completely made of dark flowers and silver appears next to the couch Persephone is seated in. The daughter of Zeus nods towards Perseus. "I've named her Kori, meaning 'daughter' in our godly tongue. I've kept her as long as I could, but it's time she meets her father."

And that is when Perseus sees that he is holding an infant in his arms, almost buried in a brightly colored cloth.

"Keep her safe, will you?" Her voice breaks with unprecedented and sudden grief and worry, and the goddess flashs away, leaving the demigod and her daughter alone.

And Perseus is dumbfounded.

After seeing aside his questions, he looks at_ his daughter_, scanning her features. "Kori...?" he says, simultaneously tasting the name and calling out hesitantly, not willing to wake her up.

Looking at the baby, Perseus, for the first time in his life, truly understands how Poseidon had felt seeing him: he hates himself for cursing his child to the life and death of a half-blood...

The demigoddess does wake up. She opens her eyes in the slightest, her purple irises shining through the narrow slits.

...and he knows she will be the love of his life.


	2. Monsters Love Ruining My Chill Life

_This is the real chapter one (the previous one was a prologue of sorts). This story will be written in first person, and contain comedy, heartbreak and everything in between. Beware. Or not, who cares?_

_Spoiler Warning: This is post-canon. That includes the _Trials of Apollo _and _Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard_, and a lot of elements in this will spoil them for you and they are unavoidable to the plot. If haven't read them and want to read them, do not read this story. Well, _MCatGoA_ isn't _that_ spoiled, so it can be read after this._

* * *

**Monsters Love Ruining My Chill Life.**

The way I figure it, my problem is that I was literally _created_ to be a badass heroine in a crazy fanfiction.

Confused? Let's get the exposition out of the way. One, I hate fourth walls. I will demolish each that I encounter. So get ready for some snarky meta comments. Two, I'm Kori the daughter of the demigod Percy Jackson and the Greek goddess Persephone. (But you probably knew that from reading the first chapter.) Three—and this is pure trivia that I just wanna say to somebody—I found our that one of Mom's titles is '_Kore_' (meaning 'maiden' hahaha!) and so she, intentionally or accidentally, kinda named me after herself! That's all that's necessary right now; More details will be revealed in a more traditional manner.

Anyway, back to my Problem (yes, capital P now). You see, I never wanted to get involved in all this adventure shit. I'm not a hobbit, I simply love mortal living more than a low life-expectancy. Add to this the fact that Dad isn't all that sunshine and flowers about the gods and demigods, and you can see why I don't want to be a protagonist. Especially in a fanfiction, where, more than in actual novels, characters' lives get screwed with up to and beyond the extremes of imaginable torment.

I mean, I love mortal life! I like four of my teachers out of seven, my father is easygoing, nonviolent, caring, I have a crush on a girl in school whom I've caught looking at me too, and people, in general, don't try to ingest and digest me.

Which brings us to right now. Where I'm running away from a _dracaena _who almost got the jump on me while I was leaning against a pole having just caught Cassie my crush staring at me. Now, obviously Dad did not train me for a fight against monsters simply because he was and is trying to forget. But he did train me for a fight against humans—mugger, rapists, serial killers—and so I can run really fast.

And that was exactly what I am doing right now. I'm running like hell, because one of hell's is chasing me. (Like the wordplay?) As I turn a corner and see my house at the end of the street, I realise that the appearance of this monster means this story is about to turn towards the halfbloods' world, which means no more normal life, which in turn means that Cassie will be dumped as crush and I'll have another love interest—a demigod one—thrust upon me. But I like Cassie, damn it!

I wonder if this writer has planned me as bi? Guess we'll find out.

My plan is to burst into my house, scream like hell for my dad, and tell him to get rid of her, all the while maintaining such a trajectory that will allow me to escape fluidly and start sprinting toward his favored cafe if he's not at home and there instead and so on for other places. I'm confident I have the stamina to make it, but it's all in vain if the _dracaena_ has backup that'll ambush me and snatch me up before I can marathon through all the places Perseus Jackson can be.

Thankfully, Father is home. As soon as I kick open the door and rush in, yelling "_Dracaena_-help-dad_-_there's-a_-dracaena_!" (Did you think I'm not panicking? Hey, just because I can have coherent thoughts and can manage talking to you doesn't mean I'm not freaking out, _duh!_), a huge volume of water coalesces around me, transforming me from a girl to a mass of liquid about as graceful and hit-able and hurt-able as a sack of flour.

More water levitates towards the entrance and forms a crystal-clear door, likely to fool and trap the reptile-woman. My dad is not in sight. Is he having to focus a lot? I don't know his capabilities; he low-key _hates_ his powers and so I've never seen him wield them.

The water cushion stopped my run, but it's not actively hindering my movement or breathing right now, so I step into the adjoining rooms to see where he's at. I am amazed by his ability to perfectly encase me with water and make it follow me and create a water door of the exact dimensions as the original one without seeing me or it while summoning the water.

Why isn't he running down here to check up on me? He should've been concerned, fussing over me. But I've checked the entire first floor and he's nowhere.

I'm halfway up the staircase when I hear him yelling, "Kori! Where are you?"

His voice is coming from the door. I run downstairs and find him searching the house, presumably for me. But I already checked the first floor! How's he here?

"Dad! I'm here!" I call as I see him. He spins around when I shout, and relief floods his expression, and my water jacket disappears. I go to him, he comes to me. First a hug, then a few kiss to the forehead, then a damage-inspection and then the couch.

I ask him where was he and how did I miss him. He takes a sip of his water and tells me to do the same before he answers, "I heard your shout, created the door and casing, and jumped down to take her. Broke the second floor hallway window."

"Why did it take so long? You've said that you used to kill single monsters with a minute of chocking on water. What went wrong?" I feel kind of wrong making him remember his demigod stories, but I'm curious and concerned.

"Nothing went wrong." Dad places his empty glass on the table. "I wanted to know if there were more. She said she was alone. Then I had a random thought and asked her if she was acting on someone's orders for you specially. If this was some god or monster taking aim at you, we'd be in big trouble. Because that would mean a prophecy or vendetta."

"Is it? A prophecy or vendetta?" I ask, suddenly afraid once more, even though I know Dad will protect me.

"It's not," he declares, smiling crookedly, though not without some sadness in it.

I haven't calmed fully yet. "What's wrong?"

He looks away, into space. "You're growing. You'll need training. It's what every parent of a demigod dreads. We hope you'll be a normal kid with an advantage over the others—just in terms of safety from regular mortal evil, not schemes for grandeur, at least not for us. Even I, who caused so much suffering to Mom, naively hoped that you'd get your powers but have no need to use them."

Dad turns to me again, and the sorrow in his eyes is more than I think can ever be expressed by any number or tears. "But the Fates are here for their own reasons, and their justice dictates no good come without at_ least_ a possibility of a greater suffering and at most the greatest tortures gods and mortals can devise."

He blinks forcefully, to focus or to get that sadness out of his eyes, I can't tell. I somehow know very viscerally the pain he spoke of, the pain that is my future. I would like to crack a joke or set him up for a stereotypical dad joke, but this air is grave.

And he's composed himself. Clearing his throat, Dad says, "I'll train you in your Poseidon powers. I don't know what your mother gave you. Nobody does, because you're her first. Demigod, I mean. Her _first_ was a nymph or Hades maybe." He tries to smirk at his own joke and I fake a small smile for him. He's going to face his most-hated parts in the near-future. For me.

"Let's hope it's more than just a knack for great flower placements." I wisecrack, and I think his grin turns a little less strained.

* * *

"What in the name of Poseidon's smelly socks just happened?"

I barely register Dad's weird way of cursing over the confusion and panic in my head. We are in our backyard, having completed a crash course in sword-fighting ("The bare necessities—they'll keep you alive till I can come to you.") and just started working on my powers. The first time I concentrated, I caused the dirty water in the pond to float up in a ball and fall back down. The second time I concentrated, shit hit the fan.

I point a shaky finger at the _thing_ and look at Dad disbelievingly. "Please tell me uncle Nico's visiting secretly. Please tell me this is a prank. Dad! Tell me this is a joke!"

He looks at me and the creature and me and the creature about a dozen times before responding. "She gave you control over Hades'," is his reply.

No. Just no. I will not accept that, and I will rail against that with all I have through all my life. I storm towards the stupid spirit, determining it to be the source of all my problems and my Problem. It's compliant, and within seconds my sword hacks through it. Still unsatisfied, I kick at the golden dust till it disappears too.

I realise I'm yelling "NO! NOT _ME_!" and things like that at the spot from where it appeared when Dad places a hand on my shoulder and the other clamps my mouth shut.

"Try to calm down, Kori," he says soothingly, releasing me and allowing me to hug him and break down, "I know you can't, not really, but just trying will help."

I am unconsolable. I know from his stories of the Seven that more power means more suffering. If I have both water and underworld magic, I'm doomed. "What am I going to do?!" I cry into his chest.

"What are _we_ going to do?" he corrects, and then adds, "I guess we should listen to Rachel's voicemail first.

Yes, that's productive. At least more so than crying and cursing. Rachel Elizabeth Dare the Oracle of Delphi and Dad's ex-crush and good ex-friend left a message a week ago, long before the _dracaena_'s attack and the start of this chapter. Dad had noted it was the first in a long time, but archived and abandoned it on principle. I was fully supportive; don't try to dump quests on him, Chiron or whoever.

But now, it was hope: it could contain answers. So we gather our things—well, _his_ things 'cause I haven't chosen a weapon to be called 'mine' yet—and go back into the house and almost fall onto the couch and he opens his voicemail.

Rachel's voice is panicked, which has about as great of an effect on me as you'd imagine. '_Percy, don't ignore this. This is extremely urgent. I had a dream-vision of you fighting back-to-back with a purple eyed, black haired girl of thirteen or something. I think I have a prophecy for her and you, but the two of you'll have to come here and formally demand it. Find her, and answer me soon. I'll be at my father's penthouse this month._'

Fuck you, Rachel. Fuck you into oblivion. Fuck the gods and fuck their prophecies. What did you say?! This is a teen-plus fanfic? Fuck you, reader and you too, author. I'll say whatever I want! Increase the motherfucking rating if you care so much! And I'm fourteen, not thirteen!

Dad puts an arm across my shoulders and hugs me to his side, calming me down and stopping my cursing and fourth-wall break. "We'll go to her. Pack your things."

"_Pack_ my things? Dad?" I ask incredulously, turning to search for answers in his face.

"We don't know when the bad things will start. Get a backpack. Fill it with clothes, toiletries, your period pack, everything. Pick a few knives from the kitchen for mortal enemies."

"And for the others?" I have, within some margin of error, zero days of training.

Shock has seemingly made him single-minded. "I'll get them. Choose a sword, put in its sheath and at your waist. I'll do mine likewise. Imperial Gold daggers to pass as Romans, silver daggers against wolves. And that compound bow you've wanted to try since you were three, we'll take it too. It won't fit on our backs, so I'll levitate it above us in a water cover and Mist it away. Now run! Act like we're on a time limit!"

He literally shoves me off the couch and I comply, trusting his years of demigod-ing over my three hours of awkward-ing with the swords.

* * *

If monsters try to attack us on the way to Rachel Elizabeth Dare's house, I don't know of them. Dad didn't look particularly distracted, so either the monsters are weak and dissipated easily, or there are none.

That's another realisation on my part: the idiot who's writing this had lulled me and sympathetic readers into a false sense of security by writing that the monsters weren't targeting me but just _happened_ to find me, only to then subvert expectations and reveal that _Surprise! Your life is going to hell right on schedule._

Should I be cracking hell/Hades/Erebus/Tartarus jokes? I'll have to ask uncle Nico if he appears in a later chapter.

Anyway, as I was saying, the ride to Rachel was rather remark-less. The only feature of interest is when Dad remembers Rachel's richness and reminds me of it. "Don't squawk and stare," he warns, "We're here for a prophecy."

I'm only too pleased with the alliteration in my internal monologue, but I manage to concentrate on his words. I tell him there's no one with more incentive to focus on the news of my life or death than me, and he answers that I underestimate him. "I'll want someone to pay to keep the life-support machines running for my toothless, hairless body, after all."

"Well, if you're lucky," I say, "I'll be heartless and pull the plug on you somewhere in your second month."

He winks at me. "Don't lie to me, Kori. We both know it'll be three weeks max."

See, my dad is the dad to joke with. He's fluent in more meme templates than most internet-creatures will ever see, he likes mortality jokes, ugly puns, period jokes, he makes and recognises random fandom references—he's awesome, is all. He says sass is his default state, and I can't disagree that it's mine too. He was a recluse and an idiot during the time frame between Annabeth Chase's death and my birth, he's told me many times, but I can't extrapolate that Perseus from what I can see in front of me.

('random fandom'? Dude, I'm on fire with these poetic devices today!)

As it turns out, it's very lucky Dad warned me about not freaking out over the Dare wealth. As we go up in an elevator that looks and feels like we're floating, I can barely focus on the mission. I chant it to myself to keep steady. "RED's prophecy; what's-going-on-with-me; RED's prophecy; what's-going-on-with-me..." I mutter it over and over again. I fall into a rhythm, and can finally concentrate enough to look at Dad to see what he's doing.

He's almost OCD-ly touching his weapons. But I know he's not OCD—he's really, really messy. He's nervous, and it's making him hyperactive. He's stressed, uncomfortable, even though this situation should be familiar to him, having had so many prophecies and quests heard and completed during his years at Camp Half-Blood. He's scared, nervous, stressed, anxious, uncomfortable... because of me. I'm the one thing that had changed since then, except for his age and his weapon.

That realisation makes his words about me underestimating him _burn_ into my head. He cares for me. Over the course of this one day so many times he's proven himself and I still instinctively question his love. In my school life and non-crazy life too I knew he would do anything for me, but somehow it wasn't _real_, tangible, measurable, right up until this moment. My dad _cares_ for me, _loves_ me.

It's ridiculous how much that sentence understates the feeling of gratitude that floods me on realising it.

He catches me looking at him. His eyebrows scrunch up as he moves closer and bows to meet my height. "Why are you crying? I'm here, you aren't going to get hurt."

As if conjured at his command, I feel more tears releasing. It must hurt him, right? Lying to me like that? He _knows_ there's nothing but suffering ahead, yet he says he can save me. But if he tries to prevent the hurt from coming to me, the Fates will kill him to get him out of their way. I can't see him die for me...

But I can't tell him that. I wave him away, saying, "I somehow thought of a stupid tragedy story. You know that new one you read to me? The ending just _kills_ me sometimes." Just like a stereotypical teenage girl, crying at tragic lovers and playing right into the hands of the system.

But my father is not your usual father and he wipes the tears off and gives me his handkerchief (that I forced him to start wearing) maintaining as much gravity as if I was crying at a funeral. "Yeah, it really gets to you sometimes. Another thought from a slightly, barely different angle and it shocks you again how much May sacrificed for Troian."

I smile at his care, and he probably interprets it as a smile at his understanding. I slowly calm myself back to business mode, spurred on by the approaching penthouse floor. Also, I almost forgot to clarify to you—yes I have my father read to me. It's a net profit, since my dyslexia is worse than his.

The doors open and a redheaded lady is standing just outside as if waiting for us but she can't be Rachel even though she looks around my father's age because she's _beautiful_.

She hugs Dad, murmuring about how much he's changed and how much she misses him. I stare at her: I can't, _can't_ trace this pretty woman back to the klutzy, artsy, weirdo teen that Dad had described to me in his stories. There are no splotches of paint, no graffiti-ed denims, no freckles, no bracelets.

She steps back from her embrace and looks at me, inspects me. "This is exactly the girl I dreamt about! How did you find her?"

"She's my daughter, Kori," Dad answers simply.

"And I'm fourteen," I add, "not 'thirteen or something'."

If Rachel is surprised that Perseus Jackson has a teenaged daughter, or that the daughter in question can mouth off, her face doesn't show it. Her only response is a muttered "That explains it," and she tells us to follow her into the house.

I try to ask her, "What does that mean? What does it explain?" but she's quiet till we are seated in her living room. Dad asks whether we are safe from mortal interruption, and Rachel says that nobody is supposed to be living here right now, and so there are not even servants around.

She asks me, "Have you had any significant dreams recently? Any funny creature, humanoid, scenery?"

"Nope. My schedule is so tiring I just pass out. No dreams at all, so no dreams that are significant."

Nodding, she turns to Dad. "Percy, why did you did come _today_? The message is weeks old. I was about to send a new one with an updated location."

I'm about to blurt out "It's Perseus," but Dad places a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I do stop. Maybe she's close enough, dear enough. "A _dracaena_ chased her home from school today, and I killed it and decided to start training her. Only when I taught her to use her water magic, she used it once and the second time she summoned a ghost.

"We were obviously very confused and angry, and the logical next step was to get some Camp intel. I remembered you'd left a message back then and decided that a peek into the future couldn't hurt."

"What did you do to the spirit?"

Dad laughs. "She rushed it and obliterated it."

Rachel's face shows apprehension now. She stalls for time. "Any more monsters? Did you see any classic ones?"

I tell her this is starting to feel like an interrogation instead of an Oracle's guidance. "Tell me what happened in your dream of me and Dad."

Rachel gulps, meaning she's really nervous. She gives Dad a look that I can't interpret but he does and he tells me to hand over my sword. I give it to him, deducing that she thinks I'm gonna lash out at her for what she says. Fair enough: I _am_ volatile. What surprises me is that he takes his own sword, along with mine, and throws it behind him.

She thinks he'll lash out too.

"Kori, the dream... it implied that you... have all the Big Three's powers."

My first thought is that she shouldn't have worried I was gonna go all predator on her. You know that scene in _H2G2_ where Arthur Dent gets so many shocks in one day that he's just passive to any more? That is me now. The significance of her sentence doesn't hit me, and won't probably hit me for another chapter or two.

But I have one clear thought lined up right after that one. It is that this author wasn't just pleased by giving me Hades and Poseidon powers, no. He _had_ to add Zeus'. This should technically make me probably the most overpowered fanfiction heroine that is also a daughter of Percy Jackson, but he will clearly make me stumble and fail like Erebus at using my demigod magic and thus reduce the OPness.

Which wouldn't faze me generally, but it's so humiliating to be so powerful and still make rookie mistakes. Oh, well: I can't really do much about it from inside these words, can I?

I'm so engrossed in thinking about my thoughts and crazily talking about this story that I almost miss Dad's reaction to Rachel's words, and Rachel's reaction to Dad's reaction.

About Dad's reaction—well, let me just tell you that (1) it isn't violent, (2) it isn't vocal, and (3) it makes Rachel shrink back and grasp her necklace that has a sun-and-bow symbol that's clearly a 'Help me, Apollo!' beacon.

It makes me scared too, I must admit. Now, you know I _know_ he's not gonna be harm me, even accidentally, so I'm not afraid for myself. I'm scared for him: I'm scared he'll take up his sword and launch himself at Olympus and fight till he dies, just to even slightly hurt the Fates.

He's currently glaring at the floor with all that intensity, and now _I_ put a hand on _his_ shoulder to bring him back. He shakes his head, asks for a glass of water.

Rachel scurries to what I hope is the kitchen and not a panic room, and Dad closes his eyes. I stand up and go to retrieve our weapons from where he'd thrown them.

When I come back Rachel's handing him a glass and holding one for me too. I take mine from her hand and thank her. Dad's managed to normalise somehow. "Where're the Zeus powers from?" His voice is rough; he almost croaks.

"Not sure, but... maybe Sally was a legacy. And it must've been a long ancestor who was a demigod, because even the gods forgot about it and the powers clearly haven't manifested since way back. My other theory is Persephone is... you know... the daughter of Demeter and Zeus. So she may bring with her some powers. Maybe it even strengthened the legacy part enough to manifest!"

"They were snakes when it happened, and so Persephone is a snake, and just like a snake who can do no good, she's cursed my daughter with this life."

I get the urge to remind him if it weren't for her I wouldn't be _alive_ and he would be a living ghost, but then I understand he's saying that scenario would be better. And that too bounces off of me because I'm still too shocked to care, as I said already.

I take initiative with the questions because Dad needs cool down time. "Did you see whether the powers are comparable in strength or like Zeus' is weakest because it's ancestral or Hades' are weak because they're indirect or something like that?"

"No, they're not ranked, Kori. You're as strong with each. The reason for that I do not know, but I think it wasn't the gods that did this."

Meaning: the Fates did this. I straighten up and look her in the eye. "Oracle, I request, on behalf of my father and me, a prophecy if you have one for us." I get goosebumps from anticipation.

Rachel's eyes do not turn green. She doesn't spout rhyming lines of destruction while being surrounded by green fumes.

I blink at her baffled, and I expect Dad does too, and Rachel just sighs and says, "I got nothing. Ever since Apollo restored the other Oracles, the prophecies have all become distributed between all of us. Perhaps one of the others can help you."

Oh yes, the _Trials of Apollo_. The series that killed Jason Grace, almost-killed Frank Zhang, destroyed any chance of Theyna (my OTP), reduced Piper to an almost-mortal, and broke so many hearts. I can hear some in the back say that I didn't give you a spoiler warning. Well, that is why you should read ANs; there _is_ a warning.

I try to recall what other Oracles are there, but Rachel beats me to it. "The only ones that are functional right now are the Sibylline Books tattooed on Tyson and inside Ella's head, and the Grove of Dodona. The others are cursed or dead or have their gifts revoked."

Dad curses. I don't understand why, so I ask Rachel. She answers, "The Grove is at Camp Half-Blood, and Ella and Tyson have opened up a shop at Camp Jupiter called _Cyclops Books and Prophecies and Orange Cat_." She pauses for effect. "Your father will have to visit at least one camp to get your prophecy."

She doesn't say the 'and face his nightmares' bit, maybe because she doesn't know he has them. "Shouldn't _all_ of you get my prophecy? I mean, as far as I can see, this is a big, important, fate-of-the-world one. Clearly—and believe me I hate this—I'm the most im—"

I'm cut off by a hand covering my mouth. I trace it back to Dad and glare at him in indignation. Then I see the chastising look in his eyes. What did I do wrong?

"No superlatives of importance, power, strength, luck. No superlatives at all if they praise you. Never say it even if it's obvious. I said once to Magnus and Alex that Annabeth was the greatest demigod of our generation and you know very well what happened to her. The Roman legion praised Jason as their best warrior on many occasions and he died stupidly. Piper was called the most resourceful, most beautiful daughter of Aphrodite, me the most powerful son of Poseidon. We both suffered, just not as brightly. The Fates are always seeing and listening, looking for a laugh at our expense."

I nod in understanding and he lifts his hand away. He turns to Rachel and says, "Well, if you can't give us a prophecy, can you at least tell us what was it like in your dream? Specifically, did it seem like an Olympian civil war or just gods versus monsters? I need to know whom we can trust, and if we can trespass in Poseidon's and Zeus' if we want to."

"It wasn't that clear, but you were fighting monsters, not demigods. I mean, you aren't against Olympus itself, and how many gods will go so far as to hire monster to fight demigods?"

"Every single one of them. Every single Olympian is capable of allying with monsters just to see their enemy dead. But you're right, if it was us against Olympus or the majority of Olympus, the gods would send their halfbloods against us. Did you see us using our powers?"

I answer for Rachel. "Obviously, Dad. How else would she have known I could use wind, water and hell?"

Dad laughs self-deprecatingly, just as the French window behind Rachel explodes.

Fucking cliffhangers, amiright?

* * *

_Oh, and if you're a homophobe or a transphobe, can you please jump off a skyscraper?_


End file.
